


Twelfth of Never

by alexiel-neesan (alyyks)



Category: DCU
Genre: Barbara Gordon is Oracle, GFY, Gen, Pre-New 52
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/pseuds/alexiel-neesan
Summary: Oracle is an eye everywhere, knowledge, support. She's a thousand random chats and a dedicated team.She never expects surprises.





	

Barbara Gordon sometimes describes herself as a 'mouse potato'. She is far more than this: she is Oracle.  
  
Oracle is invaluable to the cape community, and her team, even if it is for now only composed of three people, is a force to be reckoned with. They are less flashy and less prone to speech-makings than the JLA, they are better at slinking in the shadows and leaving the same way.  
  
Oracle, and the Birds of Prey, is the hub and keeper of all informations; Oracle is the protector of all identities of every past and present hero on Earth and a few beyond; Oracle is the eye kept on and in every governmental, non-governmental, industrial and other computer system; Oracle is the source of almost all the intel used by the Justice League, the Titans, Batman.  
  
Even Batman defers to Oracle's skills in this area.  
  
***

PB&J: china is a lousy place to be at this time of the year  
Rollzz: trip is not being good?  
PB&J: maybe  
PB&J: maybe it wasnt a trip at all  
Rollzz: i hope for you it'll get better  
PB&J: it should  
PB&J: any time now  
PB&J: im waiting  
Rollzz: at least there are no ninja? :-)  
PB&J: <i>yet</i>  
  
***  
Barbara spends a lot of time on the web, as Oracle, and as herself. She chats with people from all over the globe under a couple dozen identities. Those chats are protected, with as many tricks as she can come up with and a few more she invents on her downtime.  
  
***  
zombieeee: you wouldnt believe where you can find wifi these days  
rollerthunder: hit me  
rollerthunder: weirdest so far was in my bathroom when everywhere else didn't work  
zombieeee: closer living person is about a hundred miles away all around  
zombieeee: and the epicenter could have been in lawrence of arabia the restored version now with twice as much really deserted desert and real too fucking hot  
rollerthunder: not Mad Max?  
zombieeee: no it would have been funnier but no  
zombieeee: sadly  
  
***  
She does not exactly know when the first discussion that made her make a double take happened, and about what it was. There is a lot of data crossing her screen everyday. That’s what she tells herself, later—when she catches herself thinking she should have caught on earlier.  
  
***  
downthepit: hah  
Mousie: what's got you?  
downthepit: wayne central they called the new rail hub wayne central.  
downthepit: way to inflate the guys ego  
Mousie: he is mostly the one to fund it - it made the news a while ago. City would have never done anything about the lines  
downthepit: does not make him an arrogant hypocritical bastard any less  
Mousie: you don't like him - any reason why?  
Mousie: downthepit? Are you still there?  
  
***  
Bruce is something of a polarizing figure in Gotham. That conversation, or a version of it, she’s had it a couple time, from different sides. She’s heard worse from his allies and friends—and from Dick, too.  
  
The man has gotten more driven than ever since Jason’s death. In the past few years, the messy, angry grief has sublimated itself into work, and more work, and drilling Timothy Drake into the platonic ideal of Robin.  
  
She wasn’t the only one breathing out in relief when the changes in Bruce’s attitude seemed to take hold. Tim takes the training and runs with it without a complain.  
  
***  
d0wntehpit: hotpants panties or thights  
roller777: <snort> there are some combinations missing from your list  
d0wntehpit: hotpants sort of here but i kind of like the new baby bird  
roller777: new baby bird? What are you talking about?  
d0wntehpit: how long do you think this one will last thights and all  
roller777: I still don't know what you are talking about  
  
***  
She’s not quite as taken with the Gothic imagery of it as Bruce is, and she has never quite felt it when she was the one in yellow boots swinging through the city, but sometimes she wonders how the city chooses its vigilantes. Bruce and Tim seem the combination of Batman and Robin suited to this particular point in time.  
  
She thinks that Jason would have moved on by now, had he lived. He’d have become his own persona, outside of Batman’s shadow. Someone darker, more violent—someone more fitting to areas of Gotham that stick to the shadows, to some people and criminals that she is well aware she never got.  
  
Batman, Bruce, has the luxury of waiting, of pushing for things to change. Jason lived in the present: it was the only time that was guaranteed to exist to him.  
  
***  
jj45tz: talks of an op down at the haysville east docks later tonight  
jj45tz: maybe drugs maybe guns cant verify either  
InBlue: ?  
jj45tz: thought you might like to know  
InBlue: i don't understand - how does it concern me?  
jj45tz: we both know who you are  
  
***  
The conclusion that the same person is behind those screen names comes slowly. She becomes suspicious with the bird comments; the Haysville docks intel is the proverbial drop starting the spill. Barbara is wary of following anonymous information: not enough info and she could send someone to get seriously hurt, too much and it could be a trap, and all the combinations possible.  
  
What she can find on the area in the few hours since the message makes it clear something is going to happen, soon.  
  
Huntress and the new-not-so-new-anymore Robin team up to go have a look and jump into the middle of what is later dubbed in the first page of the Gotham City Gazette 'GCPD'S CATCH OF THE YEAR.’ It rates the Daily Planet too—not on the first page but with a better title.  
  
She can’t label jj45tz as a trustworthy source with only one instance of correct information. What she can do, what she’s good at, is dig.  
  
Babs tracks down every screen name she has ever chatted with. She finds students, unemployed people, a couple of retired plane mechanics, some military personal both retired and active, housewives, high school students, nurses, teachers, communication specialists and lab monkeys, car dealers and hackers, CEOs and writers, in the US, scattered through Europe, in Japan, two in Sweden, one in Johannesburg, in Australia, in Brazil, in Beijing, Singapour, Dubai, Beyrouth, Bamako, Russia—and more.  
  
She never finds the location of PB&J, zombieeee, downthepit/d0wntehpit and jj45tz. They are the only ones screen names she could not track. Some of the misdirections used to protect those names seem shared among them. It is not that big a stretch, once she digs through the protections' codes used and confirmed they are similar enough to have been made by the same person, to conclude that PB&J, zombieeee, downthepit/d0wntehpit and jj45tz are all one and the same person.  
  
She can not go any further after that.  
  
***  
FLyinghigh: you stopped searching  
Milkshake65: you sound disappointed  
FLyinghigh: i liked our chats it was distracting  
FLyinghigh: while it lasted  
FLyinghigh: in a good way  
Milkshake65: what is your goal there?  
FLyinghigh: no goal nothing  
FLyinghigh: im on my own and hear a lot of things  
FLyinghigh: are you interested in more information  
FLyinghigh: the clown is mine btw  
Milkshake65: what do you expect then?  
FLyinghigh: like i said im on my own and hear a lot of things  
FLyinghigh: i cant be everywhere at the same time  
FLyinghigh: you cant possibly said no to information and you know how to put people on it  
FLyinghigh: we both know who you are  
  
***  
She spends one full week scouring through her systems to find out how on earth information could have leaked out.  
  
Five days in, Dinah points that there is no way anyone could have penetrated Oracle's systems, no without making a big show of it, not without the news being spread through many of the security and hacking communities Barbara is part of. Also, would Babs please take a tiny tiny break, just long enough to gulp down something that doesn’t smell like a tar pit, and maybe a shower and some sleep while they’re at it, because Dinah has seen her doing downright unhealthy things but this one is this close from taking the cake.  
  
Barbara complies. After all, Dinah is right.  
  
***  
TexWolf3: thought about what i said  
RedRiding: how can I be sure the info you give me is legit?  
TexWolf3: you cant  
TexWolf3: same as any other indic  
TexWolf3: the docks catch worked pretty well no  
RedRiding: what do you get out of this?  
TexWolf3: are these questions written down for you  
TexWolf3: i already said what and why  
TexWolf3: only thing i want is the clown  
RedRiding: what did he do to you?  
TexWolf3: now thats too easy and sort of cheating  
  
***  
Nexus6: planned fight between bugs and rats at the creepy park  
Nexus6: if the leaders manage to shoot themselves up city breaks up in a full scale gang war  
Nexus6: just so you know  
  
Then, a bit later in the day:  
  
Nexus6: friend maroni is meeting at the penguins official facade with the guy with the dogs at 9  
Nexus6: rumor says a mercenary is around crime alley description says the french guy  
Nexus6: the underground casino that belongs to the russian on 5th  
Nexus6: a massive weapons deal is to be signed there tomorrow night  
DinerRoller: how do you hear all of that?  
Nexus6: what can i say  
Nexus6: its a gift  
  
***  
After that, the anonymous informant drops interesting things somewhat regularly, at least twice a week. A good half of them are new when she read them, things no-one had ears or eyes on, the half that is the most dangerous half all too often. She tries to strike a conversation each time. It’s always turned down before she can get much information that she can use, but she can’t shake the feeling that there’s been too many hints already, that she should know.  
  
Only the Birds know about the anonymous informant. Helena remains skeptical, if not downright suspicious, of them and their information. Dinah is very much for the wait and see approach.  
  
“Trust your guts, Babs,” is all she says.  
  
***  
wtgcEven: the killer the blues are looking for is hiding in apt 215 in the big bad alley you know which one im talking about  
RedFTW: I hadn't heard from you in a while  
wtgcEven: where you worried  
wtgcEven: dont be for me  
RedFTW: is that tough macho posturing?  
wtgcEven: noone worry noone care its better that way  
RedFTW: do you believe me if I say I was?  
wtgcEven: was what  
wtgcEven: another clever ploy to know who i am Red  
  
***  
Babs’ guts aren’t much for talking in this case. She still thinks she should know, should get the hint— the “noone worry noone care its better that way” reminds her too much of other people, other events she could have stopped if… if if if. She can’t dwell on this.  
  
She doesn’t think the informant-of-so-many-names (Dinah tries a new name for them to use in conversation quite regularly and nothing sticks) has anyone else. If there is a new vigilante in town, she would have heard of it. Bruce would have heard of it.  
  
She’s worried it’s a civilian in a tough spot. She’s worried this will end in blood.  
  
She hasn’t thought it was a trap in weeks now.  
  
***  
Flyinthedark: wtgcEven? I know I can reach you there  
Flyinthedark: I haven't heard from you in a while  
Flyinthedark: wtgcEven?  
2snotgood: dont worry for me  
2snotgood: no point in it  
Flyinthedark: you know, most people on the web would jump at the chance to form a relationship even through interposed screens  
2snotgood: most people are crazy  
2snotgood: most people arent in pain  
Flyinthedark: are you alright? what happened?  
Flyinthedark: are you still there?  
  
***  
She searches who it could be, again. There is still nothing to answer her question.  
  
***  
aa45: they got the wrong guys for the arson it was mob related  
aa45: you might want to look into Carla Lugghiani  
YellowBoots: thanks for the intel - there was no lead to that...  
YellowBoots: Are you alright?  
YellowBoots: aa45?  
  
***  
She wonders, every time she hears of a shooting, if this will be the end of the messages. If one of those people is her informant, and she will never even know their name.  
  
Then there’s an alien invasion, a JLA information’s request, Nightwing taking her out for dinner—the rest of her life. She doesn’t stop thinking about the informant-of-so-many-names, not exactly. Barbara compartmentalizes. She has to.  
  
***  
...: youre alone ive got something to tell you  
...: knock knock  
iLikeBlue: what are you doing?  
...: wrong question  
...: knock knock  
iLikeBlue: is it going to blow in my face if I ask the question?  
...: knock knock  
iLikeBlue: who are you in the end?!  
...: still not the good one  
...: knock knock  
iLikeBlue: ...  
iLikeBlue: who is there?  
  
There are real knocks at the door. Babs startles, then looks from her screens to the door and back, quickly getting the camera feeds up. According to her cameras, there is no-one out behind the door, and no-one has passed into the street and in front of her back-door in the last fifteen minutes. It’s midnight: the area is surprisingly quiet at night.  
  
The knocks were real, very real though.  
  
She rolls cautiously to the door.  
  
"Who is there?"  
  
"I don't remember how the joke went. Never found it funny."  
  
The voice... it sounds like she should know it, but she can’t place it. The possibility it’s her mysterious informant is not that high, and if it is, it is a bad day for Oracle, as well as for the rest of the cape community. To be found this easily... She opens the door a crack, just enough to see, not enough to stick anything in toward the apartment or into the person behind the door. Opening doors isn’t as much of a no-brainer action as one would have thought—as she had thought, once upon a time.  
  
"I don't see you."  
  
"Hi Babs. Looking good."  
  
"... That's impossible."  
  
"World we live in? Please."  
  
He smiles, and it stretches the bruise across his mouth. Both his hands are up and empty, in full view. She cracks the door open wider. She should have closed it: clearly this is some kind of hallucination, or a very convincing hologram, or a clone, mad scientists liked clones… but she’s fascinated and terrified both.  
  
It’s not everyday you see ghosts, however solid they appear.  
  
"Here," he says, taking care to move slowly, letting her see his every movement. He takes a piece of metal in hand, something she identifies as a throwing knife once it glints in the lights of the stairway behind him. He pushes one jacket sleeve up, the leather bunching smoothly. He makes a cut on his forearm, just enough draw blood and smear it generously on the blade. He then takes a small plastic bag from his jeans' pocket and puts the knife in before extending it toward her. "Blood and prints. You can make sure it's really me."  
  
The blood on his arm trails down his bare hand.  
  
She takes the bag.  
  
He steps back, hands up. "I'll wait here."  
  
She closes the door, still holding the bag. She resists the urge to open the door right back and make sure he—or this one who is wearing another boy's face, a boy she should have never seen alive again—is still there.  
  
She doesn’t have all of the complicated equipment dedicated to substances' identification and other scanning purposes like the Cave has, but she has enough for day-to-day quick and reliable work—day-to-day work like running prints. The blood analysis will have to be sent encrypted to a different set of computers, and will take more time. It’s a good opportunity to ponder finally investing into newer and more efficient equipment like she has thought about earlier in the week.  
  
Running the prints will be fast enough. There are ways to fake prints. But, but, but, it runs into her head; but this makes no sense. If it is a trap… it’s not a trap set up for her.  
  
She first makes sure Bruce is not watching her systems, closing all accesses. The man really does not know how to stay out of things. If—and if only—the boy, no, not a boy anymore, who is still outside her door, and who is  according to her now-functioning cameras, leaning on the wall, is exactly who he looks he is, breaking the news to Bruce will take more than just a mention coming from her computers. She is not sure he would even believe it if they come face to face.  
  
And no, she is not thinking about whether she’s putting the cart before the ox. There’s still no proof—    
  
She is running the prints, and running the blood, and doing her best to ignore the familiar jolts of pain coming from places she can’t  feel anymore. Wondering if  the boy has really come back from the dead and how is a rather good distraction from said pain.  
  
The program stops, displays the results along with the match probabilities for the prints.  
  
It’s impossible.  
  
There is, surprisingly, no battle with the fate of the world in the balance going on, no worldwide conspiracy brewing, no frantic calls for help. Dinah is home. Huntress is at her day job. Dick is hoping to get into the police academy in Blüdhaven and has said he would take her for dinner the next day bar world-threatening crisis. She has received twelve new mails in the last five minutes, all spam. Batgirl, Cassandra, has left a reading book on the living room table. Her father has brought her flowers and really good take-out earlier, and it’s still on the kitchen table. Dick has some spare clothes in her bedroom, and Dinah’s extra wig is in the gym.  
  
It’s a day remarkable for its normalcy—or it was.  
  
The young man is still there, leaning against the wall. He had rigged her cameras to show a fifteen seconds loop before the knocks, something that she picked on after re-watching the feed. He has been obvious about it, too. There’s none of the tells of such a swap now. What she’s seeing right through the screen is really what is outside her door.  
  
It was impossible.  
  
He knew exactly where her camera are, for he had positioned himself in full view of them, his back to the wall. And suddenly, even with her near perfect memory, she can’t recall the last time she has seen him. Or rather, the last time she has seen the boy whose face he’s wearing, because she will wait, can’t do anything other than wait for the blood results to be sure, to be certain, because this boy is dead, has been killed and buried and mourned and she can’t recall the last time she has seen him alive and literally kicking, more ruthless and violent than Robin should have been, Bruce's son and Dick's Little Wing and the older brother Tim and Cass have never known.  
  
A little chime comes from the slightly blue glow at her side, the blood work displayed in sterile diagrams, telling her ultimately what she already knows, doesn’t want to knew. The four words of his name are displayed on the side.    
  
It’s impossible.  
  
But seeing the world they breath, fight, live in, is it so impossible? Green Arrow had come back. Hal Jordan has, too.  
  
Good things do not happen to the Bat clan.  
  
Still, Jason Todd is standing on the other side of her door.  
  
Barbara slumps against the back of her chair, rubs her eyes under the glasses. She tries to put some order in the roughly  thousand thoughts rushing through her mind.  
  
Her coffee mug is empty and cold when she grabs it. At least, the remedy to that is easy enough.  
  
Jason Todd is alive. Has been alive for several months, according to her chatlogs. He’s her informant—all the hints come together, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the zombie reference, the antagonism with Bruce, hotpants panties or tights for Robin’s costume…  
  
She feels a little like she’s standing at the edge of one of the towers, the wind in her hair and a line in her hand for the first time. There’s a decision to make and it will take a leap of faith.  
  
Dinah will scream at her, later.  
  
Barbara stares at her empty mug and presses the button that open the door from her desk.  
  
“Want some coffee?”  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
